the day cool died

Don Cornelius died yesterday. He chose to take his own life at the age of 75; family and friends say he was in poor health.

In the 1970s Soul Train was the only place on TV to see black artists perform and to see young black people dance. Every Saturday morning my son and I would watch the show together. He'd laugh as I tried to mimic the latest dance steps. For a black child being raised by a white mom in a white neighborhood Soul Train was a window into a wider world.

Thank you Don.

Aretha Franklin says that Don Cornelius integrated television and brought young people of all colors together. Yes he did.

I hope Don found the peace he sought. I will never forget his deep booming voice, his incredible presence, his calm and gentle manner. I will be forever grateful for all those years of Saturday mornings where the music was great, the dance was lively and the world was a better, more colorful place.

Peaceful Journey Don

I wish you Peace, Love, and Soul

What I Think It's All About

I’ve been trying to understand the varying opinions on healthcare reform.

I’ve been trying to see things from the perspective of others.

Ever since Hope (my grand daughter) was born I have been on a journey to be a more balanced, calmer person. I think we owe our (grand) children the gift of being thinkers, the peace of being empathetic, the joy of seeing the good in life.

I also think we owe them the courage to speak up when things are terribly wrong.

There are those who are afraid of the money being spent. I get that. Every year the price of necessities go up. Property taxes go up. And usually while salaries shrink. While jobs disappear.

I would like to know where this concern was when we invaded Iraq. When we started a war that has cost nearly 975 billion dollars – see COST OF WAR.COM

And let’s not forget the thousands and thousands dead. And the multitudes injured and crippled and maimed, whose lives are altered forever.

As for the concern about increased income tax. If you make more than a quarter of a million dollars a year and you’re going to bitch about an increase you can kiss my ass. You’ve most likely been reaping the benefits of tax loopholes and the Republican love for gifting the rich so pay up now. Plus you’ll just find a new way to screw the system, so don’t be such pissy whiners.

If you are a small business with 51+ workers and you don’t insure them you’re a piece of crap to begin with. I owned a small business. I cut back on office space. I took less of a salary. I spent less and worked more to insure my staff. That’s what a responsible employer and a good American is supposed to do.

If you fire people to be under the 51 count you should be legally bound to prove a down turn in business caused those layoffs. If you fired a person for cause then you should hire a replacement.

If you fire people to get around insuring them you are scum and you shouldn’t have a small business. You’re truly ready to be on Wall Street.

Then there are those who are worried about a loss of personal freedom. I heard this morning that several states will be suing the federal government claiming that healthcare reform impedes state rights and individual freedom. Back when I had health insurance – for the reasonable and affordable cost of $1200 a month – I had to call before I went to an ER. I had to change meds whenever the insurance company put out a new list of drugs they had decided wasn’t necessary.

When my ankle tore and I couldn’t walk my doctor spent over an hour on the phone explaining why I needed an MRI. They asked if I could stand – he tried to explain that I could only stand if I was leaning on something. He was told to just answer the question. He was asked if I could walk. He had to scream and threaten. His assistant had to fax volumes of pages. I had to wait over a week to get the MRI.

Then the fight for an orthopedic evaluation started. While that fight was going on with a health insurance company I was losing the battle with a disability insurance company.

So what happened – the disability money didn’t come. It was the mortgage or the health insurance premium. The health insurance was cancelled. Then the disability folks said that without an orthopedic evaluation I couldn’t be disabled.

If that isn’t a loss of personal freedom I don’t know what is.

Let’s get behind suing insurance companies.

And then there are the tea baggers. The far right. The fringe that gets so much press.

This is about ignorance. This is about racism. This is about religious zealotry and intolerance. Not since the America of the pre civil rights movement have I seen such hatred and outlandish behavior.

If a white President was reforming healthcare no way would there be this much of a storm.

And if every decent American isn’t concerned about that then we are in big trouble.

I found THIS compilation of protest slogans and signs. There are claims that FOX won’t/didn’t show most of these since they are so offensive. There are even stories of news outlets photo shopping the signs to make them less offensive. I can’t find outright proof but I sure as hell believe it.

Blacks. Muslims. Kenyans. Jews. Women. All insulted with the use of pithy little sayings. Parents having their children show words they shoudn't even hear or see.

I couldn’t figure out what some of the signs meant since the spelling was so bad. Here’s a little advice – if you’re going to advertise your views on national TV then get a dictionary. If you have already burned your dictionary then check the Bible. It has words in it. Read it, find the words you need and copy them.

And last but not least – Google what a tea bagger really is. For goodness sake you filthy, pathetic, disgusting, ignorant pieces of trash. Look it up!

And then get your testicles off the face of America.

You can read more about the fine outstanding American pictured above HERE

Teach Your Children Well

I have always felt that the way we behave around children is exceptionally important. Actions, far more than lectures and rules, shape how our children see themselves and the world.

I was disgusted and dismayed by a story I saw on today’s The Early Show on CBS.

Having been in this position myself this is how I envisioned the scene as the victims described it.

A group of dark skinned children runs down the hill toward the pool. A dozen or so lily white pillars of society are watching their children swim in the pristine waters of their swim club’s pool. Dark children enter pool. All but 3 parents pull their children out.

Got the scene?

It gets worse. These “parents” are being quoted by many sources as saying “they don’t belong here” – “they might hurt my child” – “they’re just here to steal” – and worse.

Once the story became known some of the offensive “offended parents” claim they were merely concerned about the safety of a pool that was about to become overcrowded. I’ve seen photos of the pool – the entire Osmond Family couldn’t overcrowd that pool.

And even if that was the issue – how the hell does pulling your children out of the pool and acting like a pack of wild asshats make the moment safer?

Is this how they want their children to react to situations. Overly entitled and overly enraged.

Everything about the way the parents at The Valley Swim Club in suburban Philadelphia behaved is wrong. And in my opinion it is also racist and demonstrates unfit parenting. I’d love to go there and do some remedial work with them.

The insulted children were with a day camp that paid to use the pool. They have since been told they can’t. The good news is that based on media reports of the incident the children have been invited to another pool.

You can read about all that here and here.

The club put up a statement that basically blames its own members. If they had any balls they would investigate who said and did what and cancel some memberships. I hope the Pennsylvania state authorities look into this.

And, as much as I hate our litigious society, I hope the parents of the insulted children sue the crap out of these fuckers.

When my son was 7 we were invited to a BBQ at the home of one of his little league coaches. My son was playing with another boy his age when the mother of one of the other children told my son to go back to the kitchen and stay with his mother. Now, years later, the look of total bewilderment on my son’s face is comic.

It wasn’t so funny that day.

Seems this woman assumed my dark skinned child must belong to one of the caterers as they were the only black people around and she decided that since he was dark and a servant he could be spoken to in any tone she pleased.

To make matters worse the hostess of the party thought she was salvaging the situation by exclaiming at the top of her lungs. “Oh No! Jeffrey’s not with them. Dianne is his mom, it’s OK”.

Guess we wouldn’t have been invited if I was black.

I took Jeffrey aside and asked him if he wanted me to “make a scene”, which was our code for Mom will tell people how the world is supposed to work. He did not and I respected that. We left. Through the kitchen.

I kicked some major ass at the next parent’s meeting though. And I insisted his little league invite other leagues to play on our field so that the children would all get to know each other. And I insisted the league invite the other parents to BBQ with us on the public field we rented. Otherwise Dianne was going to make a few phone calls.

The parents of The Valley Swim Club should beg the forgiveness of both the day camp children and their own children.

But as always, there is Hope …

Some of My Favorite Moments

The moment it became real.


A moment of encouragement.


A moment of grace. Michelle gives Laura a gift. A journal and pen for her memoirs.


One of many moments of pride. America smiles out to the world.


And the world smiles back. In the town where his father was born.


In the elementary school my son attended 25 years ago. I was delighted to find this photo - the Schools Chancellor joined the students to watch the Inauguration. When my son was there he was bullied and insulted. He was asked why he was so dark when his mother was white. I closed my eyes and imagined him being able to say he was just like the President.

Speaking of our children ... They were watching from Iraq.





Along with the warriors who came before them - The Tuskegee Airmen.


The Queen stood where Marion Anderson couldn't.


A moment of genuine joy

I watched the real "regular Joe" - with his wife, with his son. I remembered Palin asking if she could call him Joe. I laughed out loud - No Sarah, you can call him Mr. Vice President.




This isn't from yesterday. It was taken at the Lincoln Memorial concert but Malia had her camera with her yesterday too. So engaged in the world around her.

And the Lion survived another battle ...



It was a good day.

Martin

I have thought of the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. as Martin since I was a young girl. My father would sneer the title Reverend or Doctor and make it sound ugly. Part of his hateful belief that a black man could not and should not hold a title of accomplishment.

I think being raised in such a enviornment has a lot to do with the development of my voice against prejudice and injustice.

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

It made it clear to me that ...

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

I will never forget Martin's speech the night before he was killed. It gave me chills that evening and still does all these years later.

... And I've looked over, and I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight that we as a people will get to the promised land. So I'm happy tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man.

The little white girl from a blue collar neighborhood got it then and I still get it today. It forms much of what I believe to be true. It guides my spirit when I feel lost.

And it will make tomorrow all the sweeter ...

“The division, the stereotypes, the scape-goating, the ease with which we blame the plight of ourselves on others -– all of that distracts us from the common challenges we face, war and poverty; injustice and inequality,” he added, drawing applause from the crowd. “We can no longer afford to build ourselves up by tearing each other down. We can no longer afford to traffic in lies or fear or hate. It is the poison that we must purge from our politics; the wall that we must tear down before the hour grows too late.” - President Obama - January 20, 2008.



I wish Martin was with us for this moment ...

All progress is precarious, and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem.




But then again Martin is always with us. He has been a part of the family in my heart and soul all my life ...

Holding Back My Words

I’ve decided I’m only going to post on THE PHOTO BLOG this week. I have a ton of photos that I’ve edited and want to share.

And I’m sick of the sound of my own voice.

After the excitement of President-Elect Obama settled a bit I was horrified at the developments in CA and several other states. The rights of gay Americans have been screwed with yet again. It feels like one step forward, two steps back.

My anger and disappointment regarding these events comes from several places –

People who are so bigoted, or naïve or ignorant or bullied by their church that they could vote to deny someone the same rights they have

Organized religions pouring tons of money into smear campaigns – campaigns of hate and ignorance and fear – I guess all the children in the world are fed and clothed and healthy – so they have money to spare to do their idea of God’s work.

President-Elect Obama’s lukewarm stand on gay rights. He does not support gay marriage and that disappoints me. I can guess at his reasons but I’ll leave that for another day.

Obama supporters have been overwhelmingly silent on this matter

In my mind progress for one without progress for all is not good enough.

Please click on the HRC logo on my sidebar and check out the issues for yourself and how you can help.

I also came across a site that is hosting ‘Let Freedom Ring’ – you can check it out HERE. Read some of the stories on the linked blogs and perhaps you too will get a sense of how Prop 8 and the other amendments affect real people.

I know for a fact that had my Uncle Lee been straight he would have been given custody of me when I was a child and my life, certainly my childhood, would have been decidedly better.

And that was 50 years ago!!

And here we are today.

I struggled this weekend with my decision not to take part in ‘Let Freedom Ring’ and I’m still not sure I made the right decision.

I think ‘Let Freedom Ring’ is a brilliant exercise in community support and a powerful exhibition of justified outrage.

I also think it will offend some.

Normally I don’t give a shit but I’m trying out the restraint that our President-Elect shows in the face of hate and ignorance. Of course it’s easy for me in this case since I am not directly affected.

As I traveled the internet visiting Peace Posts I couldn’t help but notice election related posts, the events were but a day apart.

And some of the election posts, even a few of the peace posts, pissed me off and made me sad.

There were posts carrying on about how we’re not “safe” anymore

Posts about socialism written by people who had clearly never looked up the word or listened to President-Elect Obama

As I visited friends I saw comments from some of the same people who have been attacking President-Elect Obama since the day he began his campaign.

I’m not talking about people who disagree on policy.

I’m talking about people who clearly are racist. They may not think they are, they may not be the kind of people who would burn a cross on your lawn. But they are racists none the less.

The way they refer to Obama supporters as though we are all unemployed, welfare cheats.

The way they blithely dismiss the historical impact of 1 out of 44 Presidents being someone other that a white male.

The way they mock community work and enthusiastic political involvement. One blog referred to it as “drinking the Kool-Aid”.

And you can clearly sense their outrage and their discomfort with the fact that people not like them were organized enough to get a President elected. That just kills them. And they’re ugly about it.

And so I want to respond in kind. I want to call a racist a racist. I want to call a fat comfortable white person out on their assumptions.

I also want to ask what the fuck they think has been going on for 8 years. Who the hell got us where we are now? But I stop.

And I stop because I want to show the same level of restraint that President-Elect Obama manages to show in the face of hate and ignorance.

And I stop because there are people in blog-land who are trying a different way. And I respect and care about those people. People on both sides of the issues. People like Ralph and Patti. People like Bond. People like Travis.

So I need to decide how to say what needs to be said.

I need to decide whether my decision regarding ‘Let Freedom Ring’ was the more mature, unifying me. Or the tired copping out me.

But at this moment I am sick of the sound of my own voice.

So visit the pretty photos over at the Photo Blog. And visit your own heart as well.

Peace.

Election Day - Post #2 - Back from Voting

What a comedy we are!

My son got home from work late, my car is in the shop (again). We got there and then Jeff realized he didn’t have his ID. I told all my clients I was NOT working today but of course at least one of them has to have to crisis.

It’s the client named Dick. Ahhhhh irony how I adore thee.

Anyway – I voted. My son voted. I have some photos that I’ll post in a little while.

I got very sentimental and emotional when I hit the button for Barack. Silly – maybe. Human – yes. I am a child of the 60s - I never believed this would happen in my lifetime.

I know I’ve shared this story before but it is the first thing I thought of when I went into the voting booth and saw Barack’s name

It was 1978. My son was 5 and we were buying Christmas Cards at a Woolworths store in downtown Brooklyn.

Jeffrey was touching every card and pretending to read many of them. A little girl maybe a year or so older than him came over. They started to evaluate the cards together.

Jeff: Can I pick out some?
Me: Yes – for your friends at school
Jeff to little girl: Do you go to school?
Little girl: In the morning then Grandma picks me up

Grandma and I smile at each other

Jeff: There are no black people on any of these cards
(yes – more evidence that he is indeed my child)

Little girl (who is also black): There are no black people on anything
Grandma: They make cards for the most amount of people
Jeff: That’s stupid – there are lots of black kids in my school
Me: You’re right but I don’t know what to do about it.
Jeff: Well do something
(he always thought I could control everything)

Grandma and I have a little conversation about there being no dolls for black kids and other assorted inequities. She is a bit awkward with me. Then she asks the question I used to be asked all the time.

Grandma: Is he adopted?
Me: No – I had him the old fashioned way. Ya know black and white people can have sex.
Grandma: I’m sorry …
Me: No I’m sorry, I get this all the time and it’s exhausting.
Grandma: Tell me about it. I guess I just did something racist.

We laugh at our shared place in the world. More people should do that. We’re more alike than different.

Jeff: I don’t want any of these stupid cards – I want cards with black people
(he is also loud like me and has caught the interest of other shoppers)
Jeff: I hate this store
Little girl: Me too

I decided to end the shopping trip.

Jeffrey and I made Christmas cards for his friends. We got construction paper and cut out pictures of athletes and singers and actors and the few black people that appeared in ads.

In 1979 we were in a grocery store together. I was on line and Jeff wandered away as usual. I was looking for him when I hear a small commotion coming from the greeting card aisle.

Jeff comes running toward me with a stack of Easter cards in his hands. “Look, look. All of these cards have black people on them. All of them! And this store doesn’t even have back people in it”

I saw nothing but the look on his face. On his beautiful brown face framed by his huge afro (it was the 70s and I was militant) – he had dark dark brown hair but right along his forehead there was streaks of my color. Looked like a halo.

He holds out all his “black people cards”.

“Can we buy them all” I say yes.

He hands them to me and slips his hand into mine and gives it a squeeze.

He looks up at me – “Isn’t this wonderful”

It was.

I know there will be those who say I voted for Barack because he is black. Well YES, yes I did.

He is also:
White
Intelligent
Inspiring
Calm
Inclusive
Even tempered
Has plans and policies I agree with
Chose a VP that isn't a moron

And my list goes on.

Be back as soon as I get ‘Dick’ off my back – hehehehe – with photos from the polling place.

Scroll down for this morning's post. There are many who shared their voting story in the comments.

The Red White ... (And Black) and Blue ... And Black and White

It is a world without context.

I got an e-mail Saturday morning. It was a forward and that should have tipped me off but it was from a friend who is usually OK about e-mails – she sends great animal pictures or some silly joke.

The subject line of this e-mail was ‘Where is the American flag’. Yet another warning but again I decided it was most likely some lovely series of photos – you know, the flag created by colored crystals on the beach or a hot air balloon all red, white and blue – drifting across the majesty of the Northwest.

We have become fixated with the flag and not in a good way. Since 9/11/2001 flag waving has turned into a way of communication and a way of self-righteous judgment. It has gotten so out of hand, this meaning that has the wrong meaning, that I took down the flag that flew above my home. It no longer stood for just simply being proud. It said you supported Bush, it said you hated “them” – all of them. Those who are not Christian, those whose skin is darker, those who have different ways of loving people, those who speak different languages…

So I open the e-mail and the first line is:
Disgrace

Followed by:
This has been verified by snopes

Ahhhh – they have learned that if you give people the idea that you did a little homework …

If you claim to verify they will believe. The field of bullshit.

Under this is a picture of Senator Obama’s campaign plane.
Under that a picture of the plane before the Obama campaign had it refurbished.

And then a tiny paragraph – the highlights are:

he decided to remove the American flag from the tail...

Obama is such a despicable human being.

Please forward this if you're not ashamed of our country and our flag & if think this is a disgrace.

If Obama is elected president of the United States we are in trouble. If you think the Liberals can lead our country just look what Pelosi and Reid have accomplished for us.

All of this is in font size ranging from 14 to 18 pt and in red, blue, and green. Yes green. I guess they couldn’t figure out how to do white on a white background and they didn’t know how to change the background.

The bad grammar and missing words are verbatim. Can’t really stop and fix things when you’re in the grips of flag fever.

The thing is – all they’ve done is redo (badly) the original e-mail – origins unknown – and then sent it out into the world claiming it had been verified. They didn’t actually show the verification.

The photo of the Obama plane is taken from an angle that obscures the fact that there is indeed an American flag on the plane – right next to the plane’s call letters.

The flag he removed – personally I suppose while dressed as a Muslim terrorist – is actually the logo of North American airlines – the corporation he got the plane from.

The full snopes verification also shows McCain’s plane – no American flag in sight. Which is fine with me since I do not suffer from flag fever and prefer to choose my President based on ideals and policy, not airplane décor.

I also wish they could explain how the US will be in trouble if Obama is elected. Will flags everywhere just suddenly disappear on Inauguration Day? Oh – and we’re not in trouble right now?

Then there is the ‘L’ word.

No not Lesbian although that is a close second.

Liberal. We soldier hating, flag destroying, gay loving, illegal immigrant worshipping – uh – um – infidels. That’s the ticket. And what could possibly be more American than calling people who don’t agree with you names and casting doubt upon their character. And trying to frighten people into hating the same people you hate.

I will give them one thing – Pelosi and Reid have accomplished nothing for us. Well maybe raising the minimum wage for the first time in ten years. And Pelosi did recently explain clearly that there is actually land/water set aside to drill in but the Republicans don’t want to drill there first because the oil companies won’t make a fortune developing new drilling sites.

Has the war stopped, is Bush and Cheney and Rove in jail, has torture stopped, are those being held without a voice freed …

NO

And we come full circle.

The Democrats are afraid of looking like soldier hating, flag destroying … you get the picture. So spreading fear and lies works. It’s a lot like – what’s the word – oh yes – terrorism. But now I’m confused. Aren’t we fighting terrorism? I guess we are, just not in our own backyard.

Taken on its own this e-mail is nothing to get all riled up about. It’s nothing compared to “secret Muslim” and constantly saying ‘Osama’ instead of ‘Obama’ and then claiming to have had a brain fart. It’s nothing compared to showing Cindy McCain looking like she just baked a dozen cookies while showing Michelle Obama looking like she just ripped off the head of a white baby. Since Michelle is animated and engaged she is usually shown with her mouth open and her eyes all afire. Cindy, bless her heart, always looks so composed. I wonder if she takes the same meds that Laura does.

So why did this e-mail get me going? Going so that I found the entire SNOPES ARTICLE and sent it to every single e-mail address in the original.

It came on the same morning as did the last time I will ever allow someone to tell me they won’t/can’t vote for Senator Obama because they “don’t trust him”.

As the white mother of a black son I speak the code. If you “don’t trust” a black man and you can’t explain why then it is simply because he is black. I have watched my son being watched in stores. I once had a salesperson confide to me, snickering, that they were watching “that big black kid” because “you can’t trust them”. I was too disgusted and weary to enjoy watching the top of her head explode when the untrustworthy big black kid turned and called me Ma.

I am better than this, many of us are better than this. I don’t care how exhausting it becomes. I don’t care if it forever changes friendships (as it has with the person who sent me the Saturday morning e-mail). I absolutely believe that we are fighting for our lives. I don’t want my future grandchildren to go to Iraq as part of the 100 year war. I don’t want to see any more abandoned homes in my neighborhood. I don’t want to feel sad about the way we look to the world.

And I don’t want to be silent when an honorable, accomplished, decent man is disrespected because of his name and his skin color.

I imagine my future grandchildren running for office one day.

My future white/black/Christian/Jewish/French/Irish/Russian/Greek/African/Native American grandchildren.

I will open a can of the fiercest whoop ass known to humanity on anyone who plans to block the path.

Just Forking Around

Sorry about the title – as Craig Ferguson says – “I made myself laugh and that’s half the battle”. I really do enjoy bad puns – they’re stupid and low brow and show a distinct lack of imagination, I like to think of them as my homage to our President.

But I digress …

It’s official – Sunday and Monday have become one long continuous day. It appears I’ll be stuck working both days every weekend for awhile and I need to adjust to that. I’m a bit pissed about this development; Sunday mornings are my favorite part of the week. Now I open my eyes and almost immediately feel my back still aches, my feet hurt and I have to get to the store. I’m going to need to decide what to do about Everyday Kindness Sunday wrap-up. So typical of me, it’s only an official thing for me but I still feel the
need to negotiate with myself about how to re-schedule it, and let me tell ya – I am a bitch negotiator. There are positives to working Saturday and Sunday; it leaves me more time for my real job during the week when clients expect to find me and I’ve always preferred doing errands and stuff in the middle of the day on a weekday – less crowds, less screaming kids, less traffic. So there – I’ll focus on that.

I saw “walking woman” Saturday night – I caught a glimpse of her going into “creepy guy walking dogs” house as I drove by. She was dressed up – a Saturday night date perhaps!? I hope so and I really hope I run into her soon so I can get the full story.

Mia is doing OK – the sneezing has started back up a bit and her eyes seem more sensitive again so we’ll be going back to the vet this week. BUT – she’s eating and last night she had a full hour play session with my son. She actually ran and fetched toys and jumped on higher places and just plain looked so happy. Siren is super pissed about this. How dare anyone have fun without him. I was planning to go to phase 2 of the introductions – Mia in the giant kennel and Siren out and about where he can approach her, discover her so to speak, without hurting her. I’m putting that on hold til the vet visit. So for now they communicate through the screen door – Mia hisses and growls and attempts to punch Siren’s lights out while he stares at her with laser beams of death eyes. Eventually she goes back to sleep and he comes out to punish me.

I am working on the slide show – I’m just a wee bit tired these days.

I also have a bunch of things partially written; a scathing rant about the ‘art of distraction’ regarding the media’s attention to Obama’s minister and his supposed racist sermons, an expose of how workers are treated in large retail establishments, a little ditty about what it’s like to work long hours from home and a winding ramble about blogging and message boards – the virtual water cooler I call it. Due to lack of time or brain cells each of these pieces started to lose focus and I found myself veering off the path into places I wasn’t prepared to go so …

I’m feeling a bit forked up.

There’s a very specific reason I named the blog ‘Forks Off The Moment’ – my therapist told me too. Now that’s not really true but sometimes it feels as if it is. I always loved to write – as a child I composed these elaborate fairy tales that revolved around being anywhere but where I was. In my early teens I kept very poetic, uber serious journals about politics, Viet Nam, rock music, drugs, sex and being anywhere but where I was. One of my proudest academic moments was the reaction to a paper I wrote in High School discussing the symbolism and emotional appeal of the song ‘American Pie’ – good grades always came easy to me but this grade was like winning an Oscar. People got what I wrote, they found it important and interesting and were entertained by it – I was somewhere other than where I was. Typical of what was to become my thirty-something years of self-destructive, self-sabotaging brilliance I ditched going to college to study journalism and got pregnant by an alcoholic loser twice my age. Talk about a huge fork off the moment!

Back to why it’s all the therapist’s fault.

I’ve been to therapy a few times over the years; first with my son after his Dad disappeared and it seemed that anger would consume him, then again when my sister killed herself (ain’t we a cheery lot!?) and it seemed that anger and grief would consume us all and finally (I think) this past fall – right before I started the blog – because I simply decided that being in my 50s was going to be better than the previous 4 decades. That brave decision was immediately followed by panic and depression the likes of which stunned me. The therapist thinks I need to practice living in the moment until I can learn to manage the dark places my mind takes me. Regardless of how many times I have survived something, fixed something, rescued something I always feel, always imagine, that the next time will be the end of me. When my business was struggling I stayed awake all night making plans on how to be homeless; would I go to a shelter? – would I live under a bridge? (I have troll fantasies) – what about Siren!? – how would I care for him under a bridge? – could I manage his carrier in my shopping cart? From zero to sixty! I fork off the moment.

Maybe that’s why I’m having trouble finishing anything real. The Obama piece was taking me into my own personal experiences with racism which leads to intense negative feelings about my son’s in-laws. The piece about part-time retail workers made me so angry about this President (as if I needed one more reason) and his economic follies. The ditty about working from home got me to worrying about this current dry spell and trying to describe message boards put me in a bad mood over people who are rude and judgmental, not to mention ignorant and boring.

I’m so grateful to Raven for Wordzzle and to REH for the PFC challenge. These trips into writing fiction are enjoyable and (I hope/I think) are making me a better writer. Plus they create a perfect opportunity to discover new blogs. Which reminds me, I have to update my bookmarks and my sidebar and …

More later - when the traffic jam in my head eases up.

Everyday Kindness: Your Inner Child

For the second week in a row Sunday has blended into Monday. I had to be at the giant-ass retail store early yesterday, very early, for a fascinating training and pointing the finger meeting. Then I did my shift.

I was pooped and having a pity party the rest of Sunday.

I pulled myself out of the funk by reaching in for my inner child – not in a silly, let’s all join hands and feel the pain way but rather in a joyous remembrance of how simply clear and true children are about who they are and what they feel.

The Easter Bunny was at the store yesterday, in the Portrait Studio, so there were plenty of kids around. I love kids, even when they’re misbehaving, sometimes especially when they’re misbehaving. They’re honest and open. They say what they mean and mean what they say.

Three little girls came into the department with their Mom. They had just been to a Breakfast with the Easter Bunny and each of them had their face painted as a bunny. Or so I innocently assumed.

Me – “wow, I love your face painting; you all look great, pretty colors”
Oldest girl – “thanks”
Youngest girl shyly giggles and runs to Mom – “can I talk to the stranger lady?”
Mom gives permission to talk to the stranger (strange?) lady and youngest girl returns to tell me all about bunnies and Easter and what she had for breakfast.
Middle girl has been staring me down the entire time and finally says – “I am NOT a bunny, I AM a cat”.
Before I can respond the oldest girl pokes her sister and tells her she’s stupid.
Middle girl doesn’t miss a beat – “I’m not stupid, I’m not a bunny, I AM a cat and if people don’t know that then it’s their problem”.
Mom looks over at me and rolls her eyes and I smile and nod the Mom universal symbol of empathy.
I tell Middle girl that she is a lovely cat; I don’t know what I was thinking. I must have been confused. Since her sisters were both bunnies, I just assumed.
Middle girl looks elated – “that’s OK, nobody gets it and I don’t care. I know what I am and that’s all that matters”.

I am lovin’ Middle girl!

Mom finds the green sweater she needs for a St. Patrick’s Day party and off they go. As they reach the door Middle girl turns, blows me a kiss and meows. Even Oldest girl thought it was funny.

When my son was a child he was surrounded by teens. His uncles and aunt were frequent babysitters and we all practiced the family art of sarcasm to survive being raised by wolves. My son was privy, at an early age, to the fine art of responding to stupidity. I am pale and red-headed – Irish/Russian/French genes all colliding into ruddiness and freckles. His Dad is African with a small amount of Native American thrown in, enough to create cheekbones to die for. My son’s skin is a beautiful coffee color and as a child he wore an Afro (it was the 70s) and my hair color would sprout out around his forehead, surrounding the dark black hair and giving the effect of a halo.

He looked different in a neighborhood full of people who didn’t get different.

He quickly understood what people were saying when they asked – “what are you?” and he grew tired of it. My favorite response of his, with no help from me, was – “Human, what are you?”

As he grew to understand racism and ignorance he grew to understand the unspoken prejudice in questions like – “that lady who puts you on the school bus, the one with the red hair, that’s your Mother!?” and he learned, through sarcasm genes I suppose, to meet stupidity with splendid grace. “That white woman?” he’d ask innocently, “that’s not my Mother, my Mother is black, that’s the nanny – we only have white people working for us”

I think and I hope that the incredibly sweet and wonderfully clever boy is still there in the man he has become. My Norma Rae feels he’s far too tolerant of stupid people today, especially his in-laws, but perhaps that is my Lioness Mother wishing to claw to death all who threaten her cub’s well being. Perhaps he is remembering that he knows who and what he is and that’s all that matters.

I am so grateful that Middle girl crossed my path yesterday. She reminded me of my inner child, my son’s inner child and all the inner children out there.

Be Childlike Out There

Be Kind Out There

Martin - a childhood memory

The song by Dion - "Abraham, Martin and John" is running through my head this morning.

I was in elementary school when Dr. King delivered his "I Have a Dream" speech. It was about the same time that "busing" came to my school. Children from other school districts came to our school - to get a better education and to better integrate the school. I remember thinking it would make more sense if all the schools were good schools and if we all lived together. Why did these kids have to get up hours earlier than me and take a bus to school? Why didn't they just move here? Why wasn't anybody fixing their school?

Busing was my first experience with racism. My father said terrible things about black people - but he said terrible things about everyone - I was under the childlike impression that it was just him - he hated everybody.

We were lined up in the cafeteria waiting for our teachers to come collect us when the buses arrived. The teacher's aides and the PTA Moms were buzzing. I thought they were as excited as I was - how cool to have new kids. "Look at them, they can't behave" - "This won't last" - "It's not their fault, look at how they live". I was getting confused and frightened, clearly something bad was happening. I must not understand. I was anxious and queasy that entire school day. I looked forward to 3PM, all I had to do was pick-up my brother and get out of there.

At 3 I was sitting on the bench waiting for my brother when the buses arrived to take the new kids home. One girl sat down next to me and we eyed each other timidly. Finally she said - "My Dad hates white people" - the words hung there in the stuffy school corridor. "My Dad hates everybody but really hates black people and Jews" I replied. We stared at each other for a few seconds and then laughed. She said she hated coming here, she had to get up too early and her new teacher was scary. I told her I was glad there were new kids but I was worried about all the bad feelings - I didn't understand why we hated each other. "Let's be different" she suggested and I agreed. We did manage to be friends all through elementary school and on into middle school even though we were constantly separated by teachers and PTA Moms. One of the Moms told my parents I was hanging with the bus kids and I was punished but it was too late...

My awareness of a larger troubled world had begun and my inner "Norma Rae" was born.

I was 13 when Dr. King was assassinated. I was devastated. In the few years between that day at school and his death Dr. King had come to represent all I wanted to believe in. He was a kind man - my father was violent. He was intelligent - my father was ignorant. He spoke in cadence - my father spoke in ugly slurs. He elevated the world - my father brought it down.

I used to fantasize that I went to live with Dr. King and his family, Mrs. King seemed as wonderful as he was. My girlfriends from the neighborhood thought it was crazy. "Black people can't adopt white kids!" My friend from the bench thought it was a great idea. "... and I'll go live with Bobby Kennedy, they have so much fun together and he's going to be President"

We shall overcome, we shall overcome,
We shall overcome someday;
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We shall overcome someday.

The Lord will see us through, The Lord will see us through,
The Lord will see us through someday;
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We shall overcome someday.

We're on to victory, We're on to victory,
We're on to victory someday;
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We're on to victory someday.

We'll walk hand in hand, we'll walk hand in hand,
We'll walk hand in hand someday;
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We'll walk hand in hand someday.

We are not afraid, we are not afraid,
We are not afraid today;
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We are not afraid today.

The truth shall make us free, the truth shall make us free,
The truth shall make us free someday;
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
The truth shall make us free someday.

We shall live in peace, we shall live in peace,
We shall live in peace someday;
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We shall live in peace someday.

Martin would want us to continue to believe.

Someday is now.